


Our Child of Death

by Aurae



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, Exchange Assignment, Explicit Sexual Content, Impregnation, M/M, Mpreg, Pre-Rogue One, Unusual Bearings 2019, Weirdness, getting pregnant as a metaphor for the creation of the Death Star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/pseuds/Aurae
Summary: They’ve been trying to conceive for the past thirteen years. Now, they have one last chance to complete Project Stardust.





	Our Child of Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yodaisgreat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodaisgreat/gifts).



The father of the child had to be Galen Erso. There was no other choice. Of that, Director Orson Krennic had been absolutely certain right from the start.

Galen was a genius, and his fertility was proven—no worries whatsoever in that regard. He’d already fathered one brat on Lyra, after all. Fathering a second child on Orson shouldn’t pose a problem.

They dubbed their attempts to conceive “Project Stardust.” Orson was the Project’s “Director,” and Galen was its “Chief Science Officer.” The name “Stardust” had been Galen’s idea. Matter is created in the hearts of stars, he’d said, so every person alive is made of stardust. Children are made of stardust too. Really, the sentiment was almost poetic, and they’d begun this work with such optimism and excitement; Orson had been more than happy to grant Galen his playful little indulgence.

Unfortunately, there’d been little and less to be optimistic about since then. Project Stardust had met with failure after failure after failure—more, far, far more than Orson cared to count, let alone recall. He couldn’t understand why! How he’d raged and wept and feared for the future of his precious partnership with Galen! Orson had promised the Emperor their firstborn, and His Majesty had been awaiting the child’s birth for nearly two decades now. The patience of the Imperial throne was vast but not unlimited.

Orson had traveled to Coruscant last week to plead their case to Palpatine directly. They were close, he’d said. Very, very close. He’d sworn up and down that they didn’t require additional funding or material resources. Everything has been arranged, he’d said. All they needed was a bit more time.

He’d told the Emperor nothing other than the truth as he saw it. They knew what didn’t work because, quite simply, they’d tried everything: radical biomedical interventions and burnt offerings on the altars of dead gods, oral dietary supplements and nanite injections, robotic wombs and the rhythm method, lifestyle changes and the wholesale destruction of revered cultural institutions. Any knowledge breakthrough was preserved for future use; the rest had been ruthlessly discarded. After thirteen straight years of trying, they were 99.8% there.

In any event, Orson managed to secure a proverbial stay of execution. They would be given one last chance to bring Project Stardust to a successful completion.

***

It was now or never. Orson leaned his head back on the pillow and spread his legs wide.

“This is our moment. Let’s put Project Stardust to bed for good,” Orson said.

Galen nodded and knelt down in that open space between Orson’s thighs. His hair was a messy fall over the front of his face, and his chest was sweat damp and heaving from the necessary exertions of their foreplay. His thick, jutting cock was plum-purple where the glans peeked through the foreskin, gleaming from a prior generous application of silicone-based lubricant, and pointed straight at Orson.

“Are you ready?” Galen asked. He was oddly hesitant.

“ _Yeeesss, do it_ ,” Orson hissed urgently. Now was not the time for cold feet! Orson’s own erection lay untouched on his belly, throbbing and hard enough to hurt.

Fortunately, Galen didn’t need to be told twice. With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he retracted the foreskin fully, exposing that beautifully tapered tip and flared ridge, optimal for penetration, and held the shaft steady as his hips began to push forward.

They’d done this so often that there was no need for them to wait for Orson to adjust. Galen set a punishing pace immediately, his thrusts as keen as a vibroblade and thrice as precise, striking Orson’s sweet spot unerringly with each driving, in and out, in and out, in and out pass, and Orson was writhing, wailing, spilling himself less than a minute after they’d begun.

Galen knew his business through and through. He ignored Orson’s orgasm and continued fucking him remorselessly right through it, digging his heels into the mattress and wrapping his hands around Orson’s waist, pulling them even closer together, a different angle of entry allowing him to plunge ever more deeply into Orson with each delicious, searing stroke. The wet, squelching sounds were hypnotic, and the intoxicating scent of sex was filling the air. Orson came again, but this did not extinguish his passion. Like a wetted coal, he only seemed to burn hotter and brighter. Orson came yet again.

“Galen… _Galen_ …” he moaned, coherent thought scoured clean away by that exquisite, relentless friction inside of him.

It happened after that third time. At last, at long, long last, Galen came. The pulses of his ejaculation seemed to go on and on and on forever, and their union was perfect, just perfect.

A child would be conceived. Orson was certain of that.

***

Five days later, they had final confirmation from the med-droid: successful conception.

Orson was jubilant. Everything they had worked for, everything they had sacrificed—everything of Galen’s that _Orson_ had regretfully sacrificed without Galen’s prior consent—it’d all been worth it. This was vindication. Orson rubbed the still-flat plane of his abdomen affectionately. Aaahhh, he couldn’t wait to see how the news wiped that self-satisfied smirk off of Grand Moff Tarkin’s sallow face!

“The Emperor will wish to run further tests to assure the viability of the fetus,” Orson informed Galen.

Galen frowned and scuffed his feet, nervous. He volunteered nothing.

What?! Was he having performance anxiety _now_ , after that _tour de force_ performance? Honestly?? Leave it to an impossible man like Galen to fuck him senseless, get him pregnant, and then feel embarrassed about his potency afterwards! Oh well, Orson thought to himself, shrugging inwardly. Not even a genius like Galen can argue with perfection.

“We will have to provide a live demonstration of the child’s operational capacities, of course. You don’t have to do anything else, Galen—don’t worry. I’ve already made all of the necessary arrangements. All you need to do is sit back and enjoy the fruit of that back-breaking, ahem, _labor_.” Orson grinned, enjoying the pun.

“I-I…guess.” Hmm, Galen actually looked unhappy. Perhaps he was remembering the misfortune which had befallen Jyn?

He needn’t worry. That first child had been weak, fatally flawed. Collateral damage, regretful but unavoidable. This second child would not fail. Orson had never been more certain.

“Just think, Galen! She is _ours_ , yours and mine, and she will secure the glorious future of the Empire. Our child of death,” Orson whispered as he pulled Galen into a fervent kiss.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Inspired by Jack Graham’s essay, “[Love in the Time of Empire](http://www.eruditorumpress.com/blog/love-in-the-time-of-empire/).”
> 
> (2) Posted to the exchange on March 5, 2019.


End file.
